


Charlie's

by Rhanon_Brodie



Series: The Name of the Game (formerly 'You Say It's Your Birthday) [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Birthday Smut, Dirty Talk, Don't call him Tommy, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, Masturbation, Phone Sex, RPF, Tom Hardy is a softie, did i mention Tom Hardy's voice?, getting dressed fun, gratuitous use of the pet term 'love' because he's british and isn't that what british men do, he comes, indirect orgasm denial, maybe a bit of spanking, phone sex with tom hardy, she doesn't, shower fun, tom hardy's voice, you have to squint to see the D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhanon_Brodie/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Go Tommy, It's my birthday.  And guess what the birthday girl wants?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charlie's

**Author's Note:**

> In an effort to wean myself off of Reedus, I've taken a shine to Tom Hardy. It's not hard to do. And I watched Tom Hardy being interviewed, and the thing that stuck with me the most was his explanation as to why he has tattoos. So I wrote an overly romantic, horrendously fluffy bit of RPF that involves getting flowers from said man and him talking all dirty over the phone. I may or may not continue this, as it's only the morning of the OFC's birthday. 
> 
> After completing this part, I discovered that Mr Hardy's friends call do in fact call him 'Tommy'. I decided to leave that little bit in regardless of this information, as it worked to my advantage. Call it poetic licence.
> 
> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

The doorbell was ringing.

I rolled around in the tangle of white sheets and duvet, shoving pillows aside until I found the surface. Popping my head up, I scanned the bedroom, searching for any sign of Tom. When I heard the smooth thump of bass, it became clear that he was working out, and that I would have to answer the door.

No sleeping in on my birthday, then. I huffed a little sigh, made a distressed noise, and then kicked the blankets down and stood from the mattress. The doorbell rang again and there was a pause in the music, followed by the low rumble of Tom’s voice:

“Love! Get the door, yeah? I’m busy!” Then, the music started again.

I managed to find a shirt Tom had flung off at some time during the week, and then shimmied into my jeans. Padding down the main hall towards the door, I ruffled my hair before turning the bolt open and taking the chain off. I was greeted with a FedEx delivery driver.

“Package here for…” he paused and glanced down at the box in his hands, and rattled off my name, before looking back to me. “Is that you, miss?”

I smiled and leaned on the doorframe. “That’s me,” I admitted, taking the box. The delivery man handed me his electronic tablet, indicating where I was to sign, and then smiled as he took it back.

“Have a good day,” he smiled. He took off back down the hall to the bank of elevators.

I stood in the doorway, staring down at the box in my hands. It was from Tom, obviously. No one else would send me anything here – I had my own place a little ways away, and the majority of my gifts (not like there was a lot) had come in during the week prior.

The box itself was fairly non descript, flat, rectangular, the type you’d put clothing in. I shook it, noting the soft rustling that came from inside, and then also considered the weight. There wasn’t much to it. I checked the shipping label and the return address, and felt a little thrill go up my spine – the package, whatever it was, had come from Charlie’s, a quaint, upscale boutique that carried mostly lingerie and accessories. Tom knew it was one of my favorite places to browse, and that every now and then I indulged in something one-of-a-kind from there. Tucking the box under my arm, I slipped back into Tom’s apartment and wandered into the kitchen to make coffee.

******************************

“Happy birthday, love,” Tom purred as he came to stand behind me. He swept in and kissed me behind my ear.

I paused where I sat reading the paper. “Hmmm,” I replied, closing my eyes as his lips wandered down my neck. Reaching up, I cupped his jaw and then turned towards him. He smiled against my lips before kissing me again, deeper this time, and lingering.

“Tell me again why you didn’t take the day off?” He murmured. He pulled back with a quizzical expression.

I shrugged, turning back to the paper on the table. “It’s not a big deal,” I reasoned. Really, it wasn’t. If you’ve had one birthday, you’ve had them all, especially once you got past thirty. It hadn’t daunted me going into my third decade, nor did it bother me one year later. “It’s just another day.”

Tom sputtered, and my gaze shot to him as he stared at me in utter disbelief. “Just another day?” he repeated incredulously. He rand his hands over his hair and then brought them to the table, leaning next to me. He watched me closely. “Love, your birthday isn’t just another day. It’s your day, yeah?” Sinking into the stool next to me, he pulled my hand from my coffee mug and turned it over, bringing it to his lips. “It’s the day you were born,” he softly explained, touching his lips to my palm.

I shivered, and he glanced up from under his brows, a mischievous look in place on his handsome features. He winked and pressed his teeth playfully into the fleshy rise of my thumb. “S’the day you came into this world. Without this day, I never would have met you.”

I groaned good naturedly, and giggled at Tom’s romantic side. He was a softie, he hadn’t been lying when we’d first met six months ago. The tattoos, he’d explained on our sixth date, were there because he was such a teddy bear. And since we’d gotten together, he’d done nothing to quell that softer side or curb the romantic gestures, despite my hesitance towards them. I’d warmed to those gestures, to be perfectly honest. A year ago, I would have been horrified to have flowers sent to me at work, but Tom had a way of making a simple, cliché gesture, seem like the most original in the world. He never sent roses, or daisies, carnations, any of the traditional types of flowers. He sent me tiger lilies, and peonies, sunflowers, orchids – things that weren’t only a symbol of his feelings for me, but that were practical, and beautiful, and exotic in their own special way.

“Don’t be such a grump,” he chided, curling my fingers towards his lips. He gently sucked on each fingertip, humming at the way my eyes darkened as I watched. “You sure you can’t take the day off?”

“I think I already have appointments booked,” I explained with a deflated smile. “But we’re still going out tonight, right?” He’d made plans, but as to what those plans were, I had no idea.

“Of course,” he grinned.

I remembered the box that was delivered, and looked to the center of the table where it sat. “Can I open it?” I asked, nodding towards it.

He kissed my fingers again and then let my hand go, reaching for the box. “Ooh, what’s this?” he teased, glancing at the label. “Charlie’s?” He cocked an eyebrow and shook the box dramatically. “Who’s sending you gifts from Charlie’s, and to my flat?”

“My other boyfriend, obviously,” I quipped, watching as he inspected the box.

He gasped dramatically and looked up, feigning scandal. “You’re a right trollop,” he sniffed, setting the box back on the table. Still, he played along. “Good thing I know your other boyfriend. I helped him pick that out.” He slid the box towards me.

“Really?” I picked up the knife from my breakfast and grabbed the box, going to work on the packing tape. “Well, let’s see how you did.”

Tom grinned and watched as I went savage on the box. Birthdays aside, I loved getting gifts, loved surprises, and he loved to indulge me. When the tape had been sufficiently massacred, I tore the lid aside, and moved to sift through the layers of lavender scented tissue paper.

“Before you open it, you have to promise you’ll wear it today.”

I paused and looked at Tom. He waited expectantly, his blue-green eyes full of anticipation. I considered what he’d proposed, and deduced that it must be lingerie of some kind. “Just whose birthday is it, Tom?” I asked lightly, peeking under the tissue.

He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, but turned a little more serious in the next moment. “Please. I bought it for you because I know you’ll look absolutely incredible in it. And I guarantee that you’ll enjoy my reaction to it.”

That really had my attention. “I’ll wear it today.” I giggled, wiggling on my stool as Tom’s promise worked its way from my brain to my senses, igniting a soft flare of arousal all through my body. I peeled back the tissue almost reverently and looked to see what he had bought.

The bra and panty set was a soft, dove grey. Upon further inspection, the cups of the bra were constructed of sheer, fine mesh, not really offering coverage, and minimal support at best with the demi underwire. I felt my teeth press into my lip as I imagined what that fabric might feel sliding over my nipples and a soft sigh left me. Tom hummed, and murmured for me to keep going. The panties were cute, without being over-the-top. The backside of the hipster cut garment was ruffled. A plain grey garter belt with little pink bows at the clasps was in the box as well, and then rolled to emulate a rose blossom were grey opaque tights. I unfurled them and noted the tiny pink bow at the back of each thigh, right at the top. I breathed out, my mind already whirling with images of me in this get up and of Tom having a grand time getting me out of it.

“D’you like it?” Tom asked softly, sliding closer on his stool, pressing his nose to my cheek before delivering a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“It’s gorgeous,” I replied, tracing my fingers over the bra once more. “It’s a little much for a day at the office, don’t you think?”

Tom tilted his head, contemplating my observation. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But that’s half the fun of it, darling.” My stool was yanked back and Tom’s thighs trapped one of my own as his hand pulled the box closer. He touched the bra with the same reverence I had, but seeing the delicate fabric under his thick, strong fingers, made me shift on my stool, unconsciously pressing the seams of my jeans into places that were hot, and becoming wet with the sudden change in his demeanor.

“You see, every time you move…get up to greet a client, go to get a cup of coffee…this will rub against your lovely skin…your perfect breasts…” he paused here, and slipped his hand under the shirt I wore and traced circles over my bare hip, and then up my ribs. He hummed, and continued, “And your perfectly pert, pretty nipples. And you’ll think of me,” he paused again, and his hand dropped back down my side, effectively avoiding my now straining nipples. He wedged his hand against the denim between my thighs and squeezed gently. “And you’ll get those knickers all wet, and in a twist.” His words fell to a whisper, wet, and hot, and his tongue flashed out, tracing the edge of my ear.

Tom’s voice always had the ability to make me quiver, and that morning was no exception. Coupled with the soft, almost sweet musky scent of his cologne, and the lush press of his full lips, I shuddered and let a tiny moan escape. I pushed against the hand cupping me, and then covered it with my own, holding him against me. A low, rumbling growl made his chest vibrate, and I felt it where he pressed against my side.

He murmured my name and I hummed in reply, twisting my hips to feel more of him.

“Darling, you’re going to be late for work,” he uttered softly, brushing his lips across my cheekbone.

“No fair,” I pouted.

He chuckled, pulling his hand from underneath mine and smoothing it over my hip. Landing a playful swat, he pursed his lips and then grinned. Suddenly, he stood, and moved across the kitchen to the coffee maker. “The sooner you get to work, the sooner you get your work done, and the sooner we can celebrate your birthday.”

I giggled at the way he stood, trying his best to hide the way his teasing had affect him. “Got another present there for me, Tom?”

He made a face and balled up a dishtowel, tossing it at me. “Get going, you brat. You can unwrap your other presents later.”

I stood, laughing, and approached him. Setting my mug aside, I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned against his body, smiling as his hands slid around my waist and cupped my ass. “Thank you, Tom. For the lingerie.” I kissed him softly, sucking on his bottom lip as I pulled away.

“Not so fast,” he grunted, pulling at my ass and holding me in place. He pushed his lips to mine and licked at my bottom lip.

“Didn’t you say I’d be late for work?” I gasped as he broke away for a breath.

“Can’t have that, can we?” He smirked and then pushed me to arm’s length. He swiped the box from the kitchen table and then turned me towards the hall. He gave me a gentle push towards his bedroom. “Guess you’d better get dressed.”

****************************************** 

The commute to work is usually dull, but that morning, I could only think of getting ready that morning. Every time Tom talked me into sharing a shower with him, for some reason I always believed his claim of it saving time, and water, and that he’d wash my back. My back, of course, turned into every inch of skin he could get at, and then those that required him to hike one of my legs around his hip. His playful nature was in full bloom that morning, as he teased me, touching the nape of my neck with soft, languid strokes of his fingers, and sucked water from my shoulder and scraping his teeth along the skin there. He was blessed with wide, strong hands, and his palms skimmed my breasts, the calluses snagging my nipples, as he stood behind me and ground his steadily rising cock into the wet cleft of my ass. He growled with arousal and it reverberated off the tile while I arched and twisted in his grasp. 

I could never get enough of Tom touching me, or when he pressed his body against mine. Even at two inches shorter than me, he made up for it with wide shoulders and a deep chest, managing to make me feel delicate, something for him to take hold of, and always giving me the urge to surrender. Tom seemed indifferent about the height difference. He worshipped me regardless, and showered me with passionate affection every chance he got. I had been dying for him to take total control, and had dropped hints on occasion, but didn’t want to push him. His gift that morning seemed to be a step in the direction that I had been so anxious to explore – he’d never been so bold as to choose lingerie himself, and to choose it with only him in mind. Black and basic was my usual style; the soft grey fabric and delicate pink ribbon accents seemed to be a combination of us, a compromise, but his request that I wear it that day and think of him was just as much of a turn on for me as it was for him.

When I’d finally escaped him and his shower-bound antics, he’d collapsed on the bed in his soft, white bathrobe and watched me get dressed. His eyes had gleamed wickedly as I smoothed lotion along my arms and shoulders and then pulled the bra into place. As I arched my back to fasten the hooks, he’d sat up and leaned forward, his gaze fixated on the sheer cups that did nothing to hide my nipples. His tongue slid along his full bottom lip, and he clambered over the mattress on all fours like some rowdy bear cub, and sat at the edge, his knees splayed wide. When I’d finished hooking the bra, he’d reached up, tracing along my ribs with his fingertips until he skimmed over the fabric of the bra. Looking up at me, he brushed his fingers over my nipples, and I’d shivered, and reached a hand out to brace myself on his shoulder. My fingers pressed into firm muscle, and flesh, and the glaring black ink of his tattoos. He’d smirked then, and swiftly leaned in, pressing a hot, wet kiss just below my breast.

“Keep goin’,” he’d murmured, sitting back once more and nodding to me.

“You’re the devil,” I whispered playfully, leaning to snag the panties from the box.

His hand circled my wrist, his fingers tightening on the tissue and tendons, and I looked to his face to find his jaw set, his full lips pressed together, and his eyes darkened. My breath caught at the purely predatory stare Tom leveled. His mouth twitched into a smirk. “You have no idea, love,” he purred.

I gave him my own smirk and sank to my knees in front of him. “What are you up to, Tommy?” I sang, using my free hand to trace my fingers over his jaw towards his ear.

He growled and rolled his head away from my touch, and in one swift movement, he pulled me forward and had pinned me beneath him, his thigh sliding between mine. “I told you not to call me that,” he hissed. He ducked in a nipped the side of my neck.

I squealed, and bucked beneath him, trying to escape the scrape of his stubble, and his hands slid from my wrists to my hips, finding all the spots that made me giggle hysterically. “Let me go!”

“Promise you won’t call me that anymore, an’ I will.”

When I didn’t answer him right away, his fingers dug in, and I erupted in another peal of laughter. My legs kicked against his as he tickled me mercilessly, and I wheezed with effort. “Okay!” I screeched, uselessly fighting him. Tom was built like a bulldog, and he fought like one too, using his strength and endurance to his advantage.

“Promise,” he grinned mischievously. His fingers flexed once more.

“Yes! Okay! I promise!” He eased off, cocking an eyebrow.

“Say it, love.”

“I promise,” I breathed, feeling my heart rate begin to turn normal once more. “I won’t call you Tommy.”

He hummed and sat back, allowing me to wiggle out from underneath him. I turned over, crawling off the mattress, and felt the broad palm of Tom’s hand connect with my ass cheek with a resounding smack. I yelped and bounced up, turning to glare at him.

“That was a warning shot,” he informed me. He settled onto his back again and lifted my new panties from the box with two finger tips, letting them dangle. “Now,” he purred, lifting his scarred eyebrow, and smiling devilishly, “how about you finish getting ready for work?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

After a hasty greeting to Bridgette, the receptionist, I checked with her to ensure that I hadn’t missed any clients. She reassured me that my first appointment hadn’t arrived yet, and that I’d find all the appropriate files for the day on my back credenza. I thanked her profusely, and motored down the hallway to my office.

I had just enough time to boot up my computer, hang my coat, stash my purse, before Bridgette called to let me know my appointment was here. I hadn’t even glanced at the client list yet, so I wasn’t sure who I was meeting with. I wasn’t too concerned; I was up to date with everything I was working on, and it was Friday. For the most part, things were a little more lax around the office, and clients usually wanted to wrap up what we’d discussed during the week in order to move forward with their projects. As I left my office, I glanced at the credenza, finding it completely bare. The files Bridgette had told me would be there were no where to be seen, and I cursed. Sometimes Bridge was a little behind, but she worked her ass off for the most part. I could pull the file on my way back to my office, client in tow.

I rounded the corner and bustled into reception, only to be greeted by another delivery man, this one laden with a huge floral arrangement.

“These are for you,” Bridgette gushed excitedly. “Did Tom send them? Oh, my God, he did, didn’t he? Jeeze, hon, he’s such a doll!”

I glanced at Bridgette with a wary gaze and half a smile on my face. “I thought you said I had an appointment?”

She had the decency to blush and hid behind her computer screen, leaving me to sign for the floral delivery.

“I can carry these to your office if you like,” the delivery man offered. “They’re heavy.” 

I nodded and led him to my office. “Bloke pulled out all the stops,” he continued, setting them on the table next to the window. He pulled the plastic sheeting off and stood back.  
“Is it your birthday?”

“Yes,” I answered, reaching for the card. I couldn’t fight the smile that bloomed on my face as I pulled the little envelope open.

“Well, have a happy birthday, then!” The delivery man slipped out of the office as I read:

With love on your day,  
And every day to come.  
Happy Birthday

\- Tom

The best part of the card was that it was in his slanted hand writing. I’d never felt the urge to swoon before I met Tom, and it was these personal touches that were the icing on the cake. With a sigh I sat back on the table and looked to the flower arrangement. Somehow, he’d found pussy willows and had arranged them with tulips of lavender, white, and blushing pink. They’d been tied with a wide, purple satin ribbon, and the bouquet sat arranged in a glass pillar vase. They were gorgeous, and incredibly romantic. 

My direct line rang then, and I was startled out of my musing. Tom’s cell number came up on the call display, and I smiled as I picked it up.

“They’re beautiful,” I breathed, turning back to the flowers. I brushed my fingertips over the gray, furry nubs of the pussy willows.

“You’re beautiful,” Tom countered. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I love them. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” He sounded pleased. “Busy morning?”

“I haven’t even checked the schedule,” I admitted. I clicked on my monitor and pulled up the appointment book on screen. There was nothing scheduled for the entire day and I frowned. “That’s strange,” I muttered. I refreshed the calendar, but my schedule remained blank.

“What’s that?” Tom asked.

“I don’t have anything booked for the day.”

He chuckled smoothly. “I know.”

I paused and stared at the screen. “Tom…what did you do?”

“I booked all of your time today. Now, Bridgette should be coming to your office in about fifteen minutes or so with a hazelnut latte, so I’ve got some time.”

I heard fabric rustling on the other end, and then the jingle of his belt buckle. “Tom,” I murmured, glancing at the door. I moved to it, closing it and locking it, and then closed the blinds.

He murmured my name right back in the same tone. “Why don’t you sit that pretty little behind down. You rushed out of here so fast this morning, I fear you may be feeling a little…wound up?” A soft groan floated up on his end of the line and I took a quick breath. I could just picture Tom, sprawled back on the couch, his shirt rucked up under his arms, his belt unfastened and his fly unzipped. That morning he’d slipped on white boxer briefs.

“Are you hard?” I heard myself murmur as I sat at my desk. I turned in the chair to face the window.

“Not quite,” he replied. “But I’m getting there. Wish it was your hand down the front of my pants, love. God, I love it when you touch me. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” I sighed.

“I like watching you touch me,” he went on. “Your soft hands all over me, and then when you wrap one fist around me, your tongue pokes out between your lips like you’re in deep concentration. It’s adorable, really.”

“I do not,” I insisted, letting my fingers trace the edge of my silk blouse.

“Hmmm, yes, you do. And you smile. I love your smile.” He broke off with a grunt. “You touching yourself through that silk blouse?”

“Maybe,” I sang, fiddling with the first button.

“Oh, you are, you naughty girl.”

I scoffed. “You started it.”

“Yeah, but I’m on the couch, darling. You’re in your office.”

“I could stop,” I countered.

“No, no! No, please, don’t. Undo your buttons.”

“Tom,” I hesitated, flicking my gaze to the door.

“Look, Bridgette has strict orders to keep everyone away from your door for the next ten minutes. You locked the door, right? Drew the blinds?”

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“Then quit stalling, love, and undo the buttons on your blouse.”

I did as he ordered, my body vibrating with the timbre in his voice. Tom could take charge when the mood struck me, but he rarely did so without cues from me. When he’d confirmed the buttons were undone, I heard his breathing change.

“God, your tits are lovely,” he murmured. “Can you see your nipples?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. The way they strained against the fabric, like they were desperate for his mouth, made me arch restlessly in my chair and press my thighs together.

“Rub them with your thumbs. Pretend they’re mine. That I’m touching you.”

Cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear, I rolled my thumbs over the hardened tips of my breasts. Sure enough, the rasp of the sheer fabric sent a jolt of pleasure buzzing down my spine, ending with a warm shock straight to my clit. I hissed, and squirmed where I sat.

“Good girl,” Tom encouraged. “Keep doing that – does it feel good, darling?”

I managed to breathe out an affirmative reply, and Tom growled his approval. “You get me hard so fast.” He paused again, and I heard the faint sound of skin on skin. I swallowed thickly, picturing him fisting his thick cock, letting the tip rub against his belly as he tugged his briefs down under his balls. He may not have been as long as some, but he made up for it in girth, and though we’d been sleeping together for half a year, I still winced every time he pushed inside. His cock made me full, to bursting, to the point where I thought I might split apart, and sometimes I did in a rushing, hot, wet explosion.

“Fuck,” I uttered, now pinching and twisting my nipples in time with his panting.

“You’d really like to touch your pussy, wouldn’t you, love?”

At his question, my hand slid down my torso, and my fingertips inched under the waistband of my skirt. “God, yes, please, Tom.”

“I’d really like to touch your pussy, too. I bet you’re wet. Are you wet for me? Touch yourself and tell me.”

I groaned and let my hips arch up out of the chair as I slid my hand lower. My fingers slipped along the belts of the garter, and traced the tops of the stockings. Tom’s voice came back to me. “Over your panties, love.”

I huffed a sigh and slid my thumb along the silky, grey fabric, and sure enough I encountered heat, and dampness. “Tom, please.”

“Keep going. But over your panties. Imagine me doing it. You’re so hot, love, and you taste so good. Later, I’m going to lay you out on the dining room table and eat that lovely, wet cunny until you’re screaming my name.”

The words rolled over me with his voice, and my thighs clenched on instinct, pushing my hand harder against the front of my panties. “Yes,” I cried softly.

“Hmmm…” His breathing quickened. “And after you’ve creamed in my mouth, I’ll slide my cock in to that beautiful cunt. Fuck, love, you’re always so tight right after you’ve come. You like that, too, don’t you? When I don’t wait for you to catch up.”

“Yes,” I heard myself warble. The first tight push inside was best, and he always drew it out, making me shake and beg. I bit my lip to keep any other sounds from bubbling out. Tom had ratcheted my arousal to soaring heights. “Yes, Tom, I love it when you put yourself inside me.” I ground the heel of my hand down against the front of panties and saw stars. “I love it when you push inside, and work yourself all the way in.”

It was his turn to curse sharply, and his breath became choppy.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” I murmured, leaning my head back as I continued to rub against my almost soaking panties. A sharp hiss sounded on Tom’s end, and I knew he’d sucked a quick breath between his teeth, like he did when his arousal was pushed further. “I want to taste you,” I continued, whining as a delicious twinge of excitement spiked in my belly. “And suck you, swallow you down. Fuck my throat,” I finished with a whisper.

He chuckled darkly, his voice tight with exertion. “Is that what my birthday girl wants?” he asked softly. There were more quick sounds of flesh against flesh, and the soft sound of his grunts. “You want to blow me instead of blowing out your candles?”

“Hmmm,” I nodded, even though he couldn’t hear me. “Yes, please. I want you to come on my face.” The request was out of my mouth and down the line to Tom’s ear before it even registered. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, but I could just imagine the blush that accompanied the sudden, stark moan that was pushed from his throat. “And in my mouth,” I went on, finally pressing directly on my clit and rubbing the soaking fabric against it. “Make me yours, baby, mark me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed, before grunting my name.

“Are you going to come?” I asked, conjuring his face, the way his jaw went slack and his eyes closed gently whenever he was on the verge of orgasm.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Fuck, love, I’m going to come so hard.”

I keened softly, frustrated at the fact I was close, but Tom was closer, and barreling forward. Still, the sound of his moans, and the way he growled in his chest as he worked himself over made my arousal simmer and burn through my hips. Suddenly, Tom’s voice hitched, and he bit back on a moan, and I knew then that he was

“Coming,” he gasped. “Ohhh…oh, love, m’coming.”

Between my thighs, I throbbed almost painfully.

A sharp knock rattled my door, and I jerked from the haze I’d fallen into. On the other end of the line, Tom continued to groan in bliss, while I was trying to catch my breath. Another knock sounded.

“Just a second!” I snapped.

Tom’s languid groan turned to a chuckle.

“I hate you so much right now,” I growled with a smile. I dug through my desk in search of a mirror. When I’d found one, I flipped it open, noting my flushed skin, and the way my lips were swollen from biting them.

“Aw, c’mon, love,” Tom sighed. “It’ll just make it that much better later on. But thank you. I know it’s not my birthday, yeah? But you gave me a wonderful present.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to calm down after that,” I groused, tossing the mirror back into the drawer and sitting back in my chair.

“Well, Bridgette brought you coffee. And you’ve got an appointment at Grass Roots for eleven. Hot stone massage and a pedicure. Do you forgive me my transgressions?”

I groaned blissfully. It had been ages since I’d had a proper massage, and with summer just around the corner, the pedicure was well timed. “Forgiven. But you owe me, Tom,” I reminded him as I stood and straightened my skirt.

“Hmmm…and I look forward to paying you back. Call me from the spa?”

“I’ll think about it,” I answered coyly.

“I’ll be waiting, regardless.”

“Bye,” I said softly, hanging the phone up. I crossed to the door and swung it open, revealing Bridgette, a large takeout coffee cup in her hand.

“Happy Birthday, by the way,” Bridgette greeted with a cheeky smile. “Was that Tom on the phone?” She held the coffee out to me.

I took it. “Thank you. And yes, it was Tom, but you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Bridgette shrugged. “He’s very persuasive.”

I snorted at that, and nodded, knowing all too well the verity of Bridgette’s claim. “Did he…really book the entire day off for me?”

Bridgette nodded, and moved to the flower arrangement. “He actually came in and talked directly to David last Tuesday – remember when you had that breakfast meeting?”

I grinned at Tom’s tenacity. He may have been soft and sweet and romantic, but he was also one of the most headstrong people I’d ever met. He set goals of all sizes, and pursued them tirelessly, and had the charm, patience, and intelligence to achieve every single one of them.

I focused on Bridgette. “What else did he set up?”

Bridgette’s head came up from where she was smelling the tulips, her blue eyes wide. “I don’t know anything beyond that,” she said, nodding to the latte in my hand. “And the massage. But that’s it!” She stood and made a beeline for the door. “Oh!” She exclaimed, once she made it to the hallway. “And this – but I swear, I don’t know anything else.” She produced a small overnight bag and held it out to me. “Tom didn’t want you to have to spend the day in your work clothes so…he packed this. He dropped it off last night.” After I accepted the bag, Bridgette scurried off, saying something about answering phones.

The clock on the wall read 10:30. If I was going to make that massage appointment for eleven, I’d have to book it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nmbr1fanilow for looking this over, and unfing at the appropriate places.


End file.
